


Memoriam

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Disappearance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers to Enemies, Eventual Smut, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Protective Siblings, Psychological Trauma, lovers to strangers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:51:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: “We found him!” A voice blurted through the halls of the Veteran Center, a peggy rushing into Jacob’s office without so much as knocking in their excitement. The positive declaration was almost enough to overlook the intrusion, the eldest Seed meeting the peggy’s gaze with a sharp look, pinning the man in place with a sudden overwhelming fear that he overstepped. “I’m sorry sir, but we found him.”





	Memoriam

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this fic. Please leave a comment and kudos below of what you think. It would be deeply appreciated.

“We found him!” A voice blurted through the halls of the Veteran Center, a peggy rushing into Jacob’s office without so much as knocking in their excitement. The positive declaration was almost enough to overlook the intrusion, the eldest Seed meeting the peggy’s gaze with a sharp look, pinning the man in place with a sudden overwhelming fear that he overstepped. “I’m sorry sir, but we found him.”

 

Jacob’s steely gaze observed the fidgeting of the peggy, a device gripped tightly in anxious hands. He held out a hand, gesturing towards the little square object in silent request. The man conceded and handed it over, watching nervously in silence as Jacob turned on the cellular device. His fingers keying through the images captured from the latest recon. A familiar figure of raven hair and freckles in a worn out red flannel walked along a dirt path surrounded by a cluster of resistance members. They were armed, most of them with rifles but Jasper only had the knife on his belt and the 1911 strapped to his thigh. The herald narrowed his eyes on the footage as a young woman clasped the mute’s shoulder in a friendly and familiar gesture before they climbed onto the back of an ATV. Jasper riding in the back while she drove, one hand resting on his hip and the other hooked around her waist. Two trucks pulled up beside them, the group was younger than Jacob anticipated, their appearances pointing out as being part of Father Jerome’s flock. The environment around them was part of the Holland Valley, without a doubt. A location not too far out from the Whitetails. 

 

Exactly two weeks ago, Eden’s Gate’s Attack Dog was sent out on a mission in the Holland Valley. He accomplished his assigned tasks within the day it was given but wasn’t expected to return to the Veteran Center until the next day. The last message Jacob received from his pet was an update on his location and an order he sent back for the mute to spend the night at Joseph’s compound. Joseph radioed Jacob the next morning that Jasper never arrived. Any attempts at contacting the mute were fruitless. He vanished completely for several days, with no hide nor hair of Jasper in the latest status reports. That is, until this morning. 

 

Jacob had started to assume Jasper was dead or taken captive by the Resistance. From the looks of the images, Jasper was spotted among the people of Fall’s End. The scouts followed Jerome’s Flock to the town and observed him helping around the location, fixing buildings and moving equipment. He didn’t seem guarded or acted like he was a prisoner. He still wore the collar around his throat marking him as a Seed and property of Eden’s Gate. Jacob had many questions for his pet, wondering if this was a betrayal. If Jasper had planned this desertion or if there was something beneath it, spurring him to act so oddly. 

 

“Send out the hunters. I want him brought back alive.” Jacob ordered, handing the phone back to the peggy. The man lingered in the herald’s presence for a moment longer before leaving to pass on the command. The hunters were mobilized, prowling the woods and roads for the runaway pup. 

 

A call to John’s men and he sent out his own discreet team to recover the mischievous man. John attempted to keep the ordeal quiet but it lasted but an hour before Angelo charged into the main office of the Ranch, furious and displeased about the secrecy. “Why is my brother being hunted?” The sharp tone was punctuated by the single good amber orb glaring the baptist down over his desk. The bodyguard’s long raven hair was wrangled up into a neat low tuck bun, the black strap of his eyepatch crossing over his features. 

 

John remained relaxed as he sat back in his chair, his hands folding before him, His voice was calm as he observed Angelo’s tense form, the coiled muscle beneath his shoulders and tightly curled fists. Angelo was prowling like an agitated feline, hissing and spitting beneath the surface like a mountain lion. “Jacob just wants him back at the center.” John spoke carefully. 

 

“Then why doesn’t he just ask nicely?” Angelo growled, his amber orbs narrowed on John. “Nobody sends a hunting party after a willing person. What happened?”

 

John considered this words before speaking, his lips pursed together. “Jasper went MIA after a job two weeks ago. Jacob has had his men looking for him since. They spotted him with the Resistance in the Valley and Jacob needs answers but Jasper is out of his reach.”

 

Angelo fell silent but his hard features never wavered from their tense scrutiny, searching the baptist for any tell of lies. His jaw set firmly, the little muscle jumping by his ear. Angelo’s shoulders rose slowly before falling in a careful sigh. “Call your men back. I’ll talk to Jasper myself. See what Jacob’s done to warrant this. I do not want anyone engaging him, you hear me?”

 

“Understood Angelo.” John resigned with a sigh, his hand already reaching for his radio to adjust the given orders. He received feedback on Jasper’s location, scouts reporting that he remained in Fall’s End, holed up at the church with the rest of Jerome’s flock.

  
  
  


* * *

 

  
  


Fall’s End was surprisingly quiet as Angelo approached. The breeze swept through the fields offering a cool reprieve from the stuffy heat of a Montana Summer. He was thankful for the break as he adjusted the holster on his thigh, double checking his beretta before climbing out of the Eden’s Gate truck. He was met with a gunshot hitting the ground at his feet. A white band tied around his arm signalling a ceasefire. He wasn’t entirely sure if it would be welcomed or understood, risking a lot to be shot at just to speak with his brother. A pair of Resistance fighters lingered along the perimeter, the gunfire pulling more people from the church to see what the problem was. There was a level of unease washing through the group as a lone cultist stood before his truck.

 

Angelo raised his hands in the air, knowing his chances of survival only increased as the holy Father himself emerged from the church to see to his flock. “I didn’t come here to fight.” He spoke up loud and clear, his lone amber eye fixed on the father. “I just came looking for my brother.” There was a rush of muttering through the crowd as people glanced between one another with small murmurs. It wasn’t common knowledge that Angelo and Jasper were brothers. Mostly kept hush hush with only the Seed’s knowing. It made things less complicated like that. 

 

“May I ask your name, young man?” The preacher approached, bible tucked to an armored chest, bulletproof kevlar. Angelo regarded the accessory, glad to see one holy man had enough sense not to announce God as his shield from sniper rifles.

 

“Angelo Luciano, sir.” He answered properly, keeping his tone respectful and light. 

 

“And your brother?” Jerome stepped forward, approaching the lone cultist and soothing the anxiety of his flock along the way. “His name?”

 

“Jasper Slade.” He answered carefully, his gaze fixed on the pastor. He noted the sudden shifting of the resistance members, like someone placed electrified wires under their skin, making them skittish on their feet. “He normally wears a red flannel, has blue eyes and freckles. Real sweet kid, hard to miss.” He went on to explain, watching the Pastor’s unwavering expression for an answer. 

 

“You are brothers, by what relation? If I may ask.” The pastor asked carefully. 

 

“Adopted, together. We’ve known each other almost our whole lives, sir. “ Angelo slowly reached for his pocket. The ringing of clicks as weapons were readied to fire washed throughout the group. He paused, watching the pastor who gestured for him to continue. Angelo fished inside his pocket for his phone. It was mostly used for taking photos and scouting now. He turned it on and shuffled through the gallery until he came upon the album he compiled containing dozens and dozens of photos with him and Jasper side by side. Some were downloaded from his old computer files, images of them as children from years ago and newer ones of them in the cult, sitting at the Ranch or out hunting. Some had them fishing, always grinning side by side. He held out the device to the Pastor to have a look. 

 

“Please sir. I just want to speak with my brother.” He pleaded softly as they closed the distance between them. Jerome shuffled through a handful of the photos, scrutinizing every detail. He compared the ones of the two in the Paradise City Police Academy, dressed in their training blues, back when Angelo had both eyes, then flitted towards the newer images where the eyepatch obscured the latino’s features. Angelo looked much older despite the few years between, the stress and trials of his life bearing down on him relentlessly. Jasper remained the youthful little sprout at his side. Those freckles accentuating his handsome and charming facade, far too innocent for the job but he thrived among the people of his community. 

 

Jerome sighed heavily, handing the phone back to Angelo as he glanced around the town. “Your brother isn’t here right now. He was earlier but he went with a couple of our people into the woods. They were hunting.”

 

“Where?” Angelo pressed, barely concealed desperation in his voice. 

 

“Towards the Lamb of God Church. There’s a handful of buck trails with a lot of activity. You might be able to-” The sentence was cut short as Angelo’s radio roared to life with excited chatter. Both Angelo and the Pastor fell silent as he fished the radio from his belt and turned the volume up. 

 

“Found the deserter!”

 

“Get him!”

 

“Should we use a bliss bullet?”

 

“Capture the deserter! He’s running for the woods!”

 

“Fuck!” Angelo growled, his single golden orb wide as he called into his radio. “Do not use bliss! That is an order!” His words seemed to go unnoticed as they continued to bark back and forth at each other. “Fucking useless- I’m sorry.” He hissed through clenched teeth at the Pastor. “Thank you for your help, sir.” Jerome nodded as Angelo raced back to his truck, he peeled out of the asphalt road and took a dirt back road, racing as quickly as possible to the Church. His attempts at getting through to John’s men were futile. 

  
  


* * *

 

  
  


Jasper ran, as fast and as far as his feet could carry him. The cultists screaming behind him as they barreled through the woods, distant dogs barking followed by the hum of aircraft swooping over the treetops trying to catch a glimpse of their target through the thicket. His boots pounded the earth in a stampede of energy, legs trembling with exhaustion from already running most of the day. He was still unsteady from his injuries, his footfalls weaker than he liked but he pressed on. Even as his legs burned and the muscles cramped and cried out in protest. He pressed on. 

 

A couple weeks prior, he woke up in this hellhole of a county. Gunfire popping off like fireworks and bodies strung up to wires and along fence lines. People being executed by overgrown hairy beasts of men. Their outfits all sporting the same dreadful insignia, a marker of death and carnage. A relentless effort to destroy anything and everything in their path. He scrounged and scavenged for days, using what little supplies were in his pack to get by. He hid in shacks and sheds, tucked into abandoned cabins and farmhouses. Every corner he turned led to death and decay, rotting corpses hanging from bridges and pinned to walls with words like “SINNER” painted across the wall. 

 

It was when he had grown desperate with hunger that he dared interact with some of the armed more normal looking folks. At first they were hesitant of his approach, raised their weapons on him as he pleaded for help. He got down on his hands and knees and begged. Confused and sporting signs of a head injury, they took him back to what they called an outpost. They treated his wounds and sheltered him, shared their food with him and explained what was going on. Dumbfounded at his lack of knowledge, they told him about the Cult. About Eden’s Gate’s atrocities. About the scars of sin that were carved into his very flesh and John Seed’s own handwork. 

 

Most of all, they spoke of the collar fit snug around his throat. What that name and that marker meant. There were horror stories murmured from the Whitetail mountains. The resistance was more than happy to fill him in on every single one that came up. Of the  _ “chair” _ Jacob uses to brainwash his subjects, twisting their minds in his trials. The general consensus amidst the Resistance was that Jacob had brainwashed Jasper against his will, twisted his mind all up until he was an obedient dog, playing at the whims of his master. They assumed Jasper had managed to free himself somehow but it came at the cost of his memories. An entire lifetime slipped away in return for his personal freedom. Many counted him as being a lucky one. Most don’t return from Jacob’s experiments in one piece. 

 

It was those words that fueled him most, pushing him deeper and deeper into the woods. He leap over tree trunks and raced through the thicker brush, pushing aside the branches that snatched at his arms and sides, catching on the red flannel and pulling fibers free. A startling tear of fabric sounded in his ears, barely acknowledged through the thundering of his own heartbeat. He cursed as the rip snagged on another branch, forcing him to twist free of the jacket, leaving it hanging on the tangle of branches, his dark t-shirt the only protection against the elements as night closed in on them. 

  
  
  


As night cast over the Valley, shrouding it in an unsettling chill, dew misting the grass and dampening the earth. The peggies lost sight of Jasper, returning to the main road where Angelo awaited, his amber eye narrowed on the approaching peggy. His displeasure was displayed as he stalked towards the man holding the remnants of Jasper’s red flannel. Hands snatching the fabric from the offending man’s grasp before opening his mouth in a furious bark. “I ordered you to stand down! You disobeyed me and now we’ve lost our target.” His words were dripping with venom, forcing the unlucky soldiers before him to reel back in bewilderment, seeing the burning fury in their commander’s eyes was a rare sight. They took a few steps back, silence swelled between the anxious bodies. Nobody dared speak in return or even offer excuses for their decisions. 

 

Reports were made back to both John and Jacob about the missed opportunity and the unresolved fuck up. Angelo sent the cultists back to their posts and an official message was sent out that if Jasper was spotted, to capture him unharmed and without the use of bliss. It was specifically stated that Bliss was deadly to the target just so nobody would make the mistake again. 

 

Jasper remained missing, not even daring to return to the town or the church. He wasn’t spotted on any roadways or near any outposts. No spur of the moment car accidents due to his chaotic driving happened either. The mute had vanished from Eden’s Gate’s radar once again.

  
  


Several days passed before a sign reared itself. Jacob had been out on a patrol in his personal vehicle, driving up to a nearby wolf beacon that needed repairs after the latest storm blew debris into the beacon’s antenna and damaged it. He had men that could easily do the job but the soldier was anxious to be anywhere but the confines of the center, forcing him to venture out with his cherry red rifle slung over his shoulder and his tool pack at his side. The weather was unusually nippy this time of year, making him shrug the sleeves down on his arms, covering the rashy splotches that peppered his skin. He worked in silence, the dying caribou noises were thankfully absent as he replaced the damaged parts and reinstalled the paneling that had been stripped of its screws by the force of the wind. A soft hum nestled in his throat as he patched up each piece, taking roughly an hour to finish up. 

 

By then, his nose was red from the cold, the flush spreading across his cheeks. He rubbed his hands together, blowing warm air into them as he packed up his tools. His rifle set aside, leaning against his truck as he set his tool belt in its proper place. The subtle stirring of bushes catching his attention, dragging glacial blue hues towards the treeline. The herald unclipped his pistol, drawing it from the holster strapped to his thigh, stepping towards the treeline, his eyes searching for any abnormalities. The branches above shuddered as the gusts picked up but the lower bushes barely shivered with the force. He waited for several minutes, staring stone still at the thick brush, willing whatever animal was behind to come out into the open. 

 

He was beginning to doubt anything would appear, shaking his head as he grumbled about rabbits in the brush. His forearm lowered back down but the action halted, rising back with a snap of motion as the brush shifted this time, parting and bending with the force of a body. A lone dark figure emerging into the clearing. Pale arms crossed over their chest, a slender torso thinly veiled behind the dark fabric of a t-shirt. Freckled features flushed with the chill of the air, shivering visibly as the wind picked up, whipping the raven strands of hair around in front of dark blue eyes. They were bright with unchecked emotion, a mixture of desperation and something more familiar to the soldier. The underlying fire lurking beneath that showed in the brief moments within his pup. The collar showed clear as day, the thick leather nestled around his throat. 

 

“There ya are pup.” Jacob greeted with a wolfish smile. He holstered his handgun and raised a hand in command towards Jasper, fingers curled to coax him closer but Jasper didn’t budge an inch. The wind picked up, howling against his ears and causing him to flinch at the chill that breezed through his clothing. The knees of his jeans ripped from a fall, bloodied and scraped. His hands fared no better. His skin was smudged in ashy streaks, mud clinging to the pant legs of his jeans and clodding up his boots. “Come on. Let’s head home.” Jacob urged, taking another step forward. Jasper answered him with a quick shuffle back, his head shaking slowly in refusal. He shivered again as the wind kicked back up, forcing him to crouch down. He huddled up on himself to conceal what warmth he could. 

 

Jacob’s voice shifted to an annoyed edge. He knew his pet was stubborn but Jasper at least had sense enough to get out of the shitty weather and seek shelter. He sure as hell wouldn’t be wandering about without his jacket like this. He sighed in frustration, quick strides closing the distance between them faster than Jasper could get to his feet. He stumbled back, turning away from the soldier in an attempt to flee before a strong hand snatched a hold of his bicep, jerking him away from the woods and back towards the truck. 

 

“Let go of me!” The voice was hoarse and brittle, ugly to most who would hear it’s damaged attempts at speech. Painful to even try, making his throat more swollen in the process from the rough condition. To Jacob, it was a rarity to ever be uttered and shocking enough for him to turn back on his pet and grip him firmly with both hands. The hard squeeze on Jasper’s arms kept him caged in place. 

 

“What did you just say?” Jacob urged, his gaze fixed firmly on his pet, awaiting the answer. He was eager and disbelieving that he even heard the utterance. 

 

“Let me go. I don’t want to go with you.” Jasper rasped out, his eyes returning with an air of defiance. His boots stepped firmly in place, a rebellious pose of challenge that was a futile attempt against the behemoth man looming over him like a displeased sentinel. 

 

“You can talk?” Jacob blanched, his brows knitted in confusion, the grasp growing firmer, bordering on painful for the younger man. 

 

Jasper hissed through clenched teeth, pulling away from the tight grip. “Of course I can. Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“No. No.” The syllables were short, clipped from red scruffy lips. “You can’t speak.  _ My _ pup couldn’t speak.” Jacob pointed out, his eyes narrowing on the man before him like he was looking at something vile and unsightly. As if Jasper were the serpent that had slipped into his garden of Eden and threatened to poison it all. The hard grip returned with a growl as Jasper was manhandled back towards the truck. Any attempts at fighting and protesting were thwarted by the soldier’s strong grip. Bruises spreading where his touch had rested, leaving ugly fingerprints against the pale chilled skin. Jasper’s wrists were pinned behind him, slipped into a zip tie from Jacob’s tool belt before promptly shoving his pet into the passenger seat. 


End file.
